


All I Ever Wanted

by girly1393



Series: You're Not Alone [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Marauders, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, abuse mention, some sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8216953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girly1393/pseuds/girly1393
Summary: Maybe those nutters are right. Do I love her?
It's a crazy, terrifying thought. She only just turned 18, I'm still 17. Adults, but not really. We're so young. There's so much time for love. Why can't I just be happy with things as they are?
Why does my goddamn heart have to get involved?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction, placed some months after the first installment. It references abuse, as described in its predecessor, and includes some mild sexual content. As before, Lily has PTSD, and although it is never named, some of her symptoms appear near the end of this work.
> 
> If you are sensitive to any of these topics, I ask that you please refrain from reading. And if you or someone you know is experiencing similar symptoms, please seek out help. PTSD is very serious, and is extremely common in survivors of domestic violence and sexual assault, even if it's under-treated and under-diagnosed.
> 
> If you are continuing on, I thank you and wish you the best. Despite the serious topics included, this story includes more humor than the previous one.

She's tired. She's trying to stifle her yawn and blink her eyes back into focus. 

 

I watch her, waiting for her to say something, to ask to continue this tomorrow, but she doesn't. She's so strong, always fighting through. I don't know how she does it.

 

"I don't think Dumbledore has actually had to convince Ravenclaws to patrol before N.E.W.T.s," she mutters, crossing out another column on the parchment. She hates these new procedures more than anyone, because she has organize and implement them.

 

I laugh, watching the irritation on her face flit briefly into amusement. She doesn't spare me a glance, though, just plows on through the chart.

 

"Lily, it's probably time to go to bed," I remind her. She looks up at me and then at her watch. "We've been at this for almost three hours."

 

"And it's still not sorted," she interjects. "We agreed we would get it sorted out tonight."

 

Her fire has come back.

 

In September, she'd finally told me what had happened, why she had become a shadow of herself. She will never be the same person again, I know, but some pieces of who she used to be, they're finding their ways to this new person. Her wit, her drive, her courage. Her fire.

 

He couldn't steal the very best of her, only block it out for a while.

 

"It's not 'tonight' anymore," I point out. She only grumbles in reply, and begins to pile up the papers.

 

"You're coming up with me?" She still tries to say it casually, like it doesn't scare her to be alone.

 

I haven't left her alone at night since that day. She trusted me with her secret, trusted me to keep her safe, and it's become my purpose in life. I had to find a way passed the restrictions, of course, but, well, I wouldn't be worthy of my name if I didn't. I don't stay all night—that wouldn't be fair to the other girls in the dormitory—but they don't seem to mind much if I'm there for only a couple of hours. I don't talk, or at least don't talk loudly, and I make sure I never snore. I just hold her, listening to her fall asleep. And when I know she's safe, then I'll head to my own bed.

 

"Course I am," I tell her, smiling. She smiles back, and then bites her lip. Merlin, that drives me mad. I lean across the coffee table and kiss her, just a little one, but she still gives me a look that could melt my bones.

 

"Ready?" she asks, laughing lightly.

 

"Be right there." She walks up the staircase in front of me. I have to make sure she's not on the stairs anymore before I can perform the spell, or she might accidentally slide down. That's the secret: I just convince them that girls aren't allowed on them, instead of boys. It's easy to fix when I get upstairs, but I still don't want anyone else to find out.

 

We've been together almost four months, two weeks after she'd been brave enough to tell me about Corvus and what he'd done. Ten days after she told Dorcas and Marlene, holding my hand tightly between hers. Eight after she told my friends, explained why I kept disappearing, their faces watching mine more than hers. Six days after she'd first kissed me, and then apologized.

 

She did that a lot at first, apologizing, always trying to spare my feelings. But she could hurt mine a thousand times, I wouldn't care. All that mattered was how she looked at me before she closed her eyes at night. Like I was the only one in the world.

 

I admit it, it had hurt to see her with him, the nice guy who smiled a lot and helped more than just his friends, who didn't need to be cheeky to be funny. I wasn't nice to her in the beginning, but I was just afraid. I saw how happy he made her and I thought I'd lost her forever.

 

So I stopped watching. I couldn't forget her, didn't really want to, but I stopped looking closely at her. I didn't want to know how good they were together, how she lit up when he looked at her, how much time they spent together.

 

I should never have looked away. By looking away, I missed how hollow her eyes became, how afraid of being touched, how the spark went out of her. I didn't see it until it was too late. And by then, I didn't think to do the math. I guess I couldn't imagine he had done that to her.

 

So by accident, I made her fears worse and gave credit to his words. By assuming it couldn't have been him, that it had to be something else, I made her feel more alone.

 

I don't hear footsteps or doors anymore, so I whisper the spell and make my way upstairs.

 

When I close the door, I listen, waiting to see if I hear the sounds of her dormitory mates' sleeping. I cross the room to her bed to the sounds of their breathing and move the hangings aside. She's already changed and laying down, her hair pulled back and her hands tucked under her face. Her eyes are closed, but when I slip off my shoes and climb in next to her, she opens her eyes.

 

"Mm, you took your time." 

 

I chuckle in reply, settling in.

 

Usually, I make sure to keep sitting up—yeah, at a bit of an angle, but mostly upright—but I'd let my mind wander too far while I waited downstairs. Tonight, I put my head on the pillow and pull her close, feeling her heart against mine and her breath on my neck.

 

"You okay?" she asks after a minute, her soft voice whispering in my ear. Good God, this is my life. How I did ever get here?

 

"Just thinking, love," I answer, lacing my fingers between hers.

 

"About what?"

 

She's already drifting off. She must have been more tired than I realized.

 

I would still punch Corvus for hurting her, given the chance, but she's so much stronger now than she was, even a few months ago. Now, it's not about hiding her pain, it's about finding her way through it.

 

"Just how lucky I am, to have you."

 

She might be smiling, but she could also be yawning. It's hard to tell from this angle. 

 

"You're daft." Lightly, quietly, mostly joking. Mostly, but still a little serious.

 

I don't know when she'll believe me, when she'll accept she's not just worth _something_ but worth _everything_ , everything to me at least. 

 

I take it back. Hitting him wouldn't do anything: I could kill him for what he did to her.

 

"Only for you," I say cheekily, batting my eyes at her for good measure, even though I know she can't see me. 

 

She doesn't respond, her breathing evening out now. She's slipping away, and I feel the usual mix of emotions: sad that another day with her is over, happy she's finally sleeping, scared she'll wake up in the night and need me, angry this ever happened to her.

 

I know she's really asleep when her hand slides down a little, moving from my heart just a couple of inches. Her arm finally relaxes and I know she's let her defenses down.

 

I just hate that she still feels like she has to keep them up, even with me.

 

It would be easy to close my eyes and drift away, to let myself fall asleep here. I want to wake up next to her more than anything. But I made a promise to her friends, that I would never be here in the morning. So I'll be a better man than I want to be. I get up, careful to not move Lily, and then slide my way back down the stairs.

 

"How is she?" Sirius asks as I shut the door behind me. Our room never really seems to be asleep, not like Lily's. No matter the time of night, someone is always doing something. Probably a good thing it's only the four of us, then.

 

"Better," I say. I yank off my sweater and pull off my tie, tossing them in the pile on our floor near Peter's bed. "I see Wormy is sound asleep." 

 

"That man can sleep through anything." Sirius is always impressed by this. He and Lily should form a club, the Unable to Sleep Because of Trauma Club. They'd at least have each other to talk to all night. Then I could get my much need beauty sleep, all eight hours of it.

 

Classless joke, I know. But sometimes you need bad humor to get through your own fear.

 

"Talked about the doe yet?" It's Pads' favorite topic anymore. I think he just wants to witness an extremely awkward conversation, and doesn't want us to have it when he's not around.

 

"Oh, sod off."

 

He laughs, his head thrown back. I don't know why he finds this so funny.

 

"It's not a big deal, Pads," I insist. "We happen to have similar Patronuses, so what?"

 

"So, this whole thing between you, it's got to be, like, fated or something." Even he looks a little doubtful of this theory.

 

Yes, my Patronus is a stag. Yes, hers is a doe. If they were both cats, this wouldn't be such a big deal.

 

Still, it is a little weird. And it puts some pressure on an early relationship, that's for sure.

 

"Whatever that means, I think what you do is remarkable," Remus says abruptly. "You risk detention at best, expulsion at worst, just to calm her, every night. You, after generations of students, found out a way to get to her."

 

"Course he did," Sirius says. "He loves her."

 

"Whoa, hang on there," I interrupt. "I've never said that. What gives you that idea? I just, you know, really fancy her…a lot."

 

"Mate, no one does what you do without loving them." I really don't know what to say to that. "You've probably loved her for a long time."

 

He says all of this so casually, like it's fact to him.

 

"Oh, stop gaping at him," Remus says impatiently. "You always seem to be the last one to know anything about yourself."

 

"I—what? That doesn't even make sense!" My mates are insane, absolutely bonkers. "This is my life, how could I be the last to know?"

 

"You are a bit dense." I toss my shoe at his head. I must be off my game: he manages to dodge it, laughing hard now.

 

"Can we continue this stimulating discussion in the morning?" Remus yawns, setting his Transfiguration book aside. "It's hard enough to get sleep when you're not here, Prongs, let alone when you get back late at night."

 

"It _is_ like you're wired up or something," Sirius comments. He wiggles his eyebrows. "What _do_ you do over there? It can't be only talking and…sleeping." He gives me a suggestive smile.

 

There might have been a time when I would've laughed and joked back in reply. Not anymore.

 

"Padfoot, stop," I say quietly, closing my eyes. "You know what happened to her. How can you say something like that?"

 

"I—mate, I'm sorry, I was just having a go at you, not at her."

 

I shake my head as I change into my pajamas. "About that, that's the same thing now."

 

"I'm sorry," he says again, his head dip down, obscuring his voice a little. 

 

I sigh. He's my best mate, yeah, but he's not the most sensitive guy. He thinks that, because he laughed his way through his parents' house, anyone can find their way out of darkness with a couple of good jokes. It's hard for him to understand that Lily can't do that, that jokes make her feel more isolated.

 

"You know we don't do anything," I repeat, telling him the same words and hoping it'll finally get through his thick head. "And we won't, not until she's ready."

 

"You're a better man than I am, always letting her make the calls," he tells me, looking back up at me.

 

"No, Pads, I'm not. You'd do the same if someone depended on you like this, trust me." I laugh a little as I climb into bed. "You'd be surprised what you're capable of when someone needs you."

 

He stops, thinking, and then nods once. "I hope she knows how lucky she is to have you, mate." He rolls over in his bed then, and I know the conversation is over.

 

He's wrong, though. She shouldn't have to be lucky to have me; this is how she should have been treated all along.

 

I don't even hold her hand without permission. Admittedly, the words aren't always said out loud, but I always check. I reach out slowly, touch my fingers gently to hers, give her time to pull away before enveloping her whole hand, or I wait for a smile and her eyes to find mine to kiss her. I will never cross any of her lines, not for any reason. 

 

Well, maybe if we're literally running away from Death Eaters, I might grab her hand or carry her without asking.

 

Okay, so not without some goddamn good reason.

 

Because of that, she's in control, every step of the way. I might be the one initiating contact a lot, but I can only know what she wants when she tells me, or shows me, as the case may be. We don't talk about what I might want, because that really doesn't matter, not now at least. What matters is her being comfortable, her knowing that this is going to be different than before.

 

And I feel like absolute shit when I want more, when I wish we would snog for just another minute or… more. It's not like it's hard to stop myself, but that doesn't mean the desire isn't there. One thing I cannot understand about Corvus, though, was his ability to conflate desire with necessity. Yes, I want her, in every sense of the word, but she doesn't owe me anything; I don't deserve anything just by being kind or patient or whatever.

 

She deserves so much better than that. She deserves better than me, too.

 

I try to run a hand through my hair, forgetting i'm lying down, and my hand flops against the pillow, arm stretched over my head.

 

I have Quidditch. I have classes and homework. I have N.E.W.T.s coming up. I have full moons with Remus, Sirius, and Peter. I have my Head duties. There are all of these things happening in my life, but she's all I can think about and all I'm worrying about.

 

Maybe those nutters are right. Do I love her?

 

It's a crazy, terrifying thought. She only just turned 18, I'm still 17. Adults, but not really. We're so young. There's so much time for love. Why can't I just be happy with things as they are?

 

Why does my goddamn heart have to get involved?

 

I stare at the bed hangings for what feels like hours, unable to sleep, my arm draped across my forehead. I figure that I'm more afraid of her reaction than of actually loving her. The last time some bloke said that to her, he ended up crushing her. What if that's all she can see, if I say it? The hurt some jerk gave her?

 

I could really kill Corvus.

 

And, I mean, what kind of name is that? There's this weird pureblood thing about naming your kids after constellations or ancient Greek heroes or something, but Corvus? The bird? His parents are mental, that's for sure.

 

That's the last coherent though I remember before the beeping starts.

 

I peel my arm off my face when Pete silences his alarm and starts moving, turning my head to look at his bed. I must have finally drifted off, and now I watch Pete go about his usual routine. He finds his robes and heads off to the toilet, yawning. Years of Quidditch have made me deeply unashamed of changing in front of anyone, but Pete and Remus, they prefer more privacy.

 

I sit up then and stretch my arms out. If Pete's up, it's got to be nearly 6:30, making it acceptable for me to get up, too.

 

Because he's the first of us to go to sleep, it's his job to make sure we all get up for breakfast. Today, though, I'll take on some of those duties. For myself, at least. I wouldn't wake up Sirius if you paid me all the gold in Gringotts. He's a right troll in the morning. Something about being unable to fall asleep, it makes him grouchy.

 

Rubbing my eyes, I head off for a shower. I didn't take one yesterday, not wanting to keep Lily waiting in the morning and not feeling like putting the effort in last night. Before, I would've just waited until after Quidditch, considering how sweaty I get, but, well, that just seems a little unfair to Lily. So, two showers on Quidditch days it is.

 

When I get back, Sirius and Remus are alive, looking vaguely like zombies.

 

"All right there?" I ask as Sirius stumbles over his shoe. Or maybe that's mine? I didn't pick it up last night…

 

"You need to come to bed earlier, mate," he grumbles. "Some of us need sleep, even if you're running solely on a Lily high."

 

"You wouldn't sleep even if I came back at 9 o'clock every night," I retort. Yes, that must be my shoe, it's not over here between my bed and Pete's.

 

"Prongs, are these yours?" Pete asks, gesturing to robes on the floor, pushing them with his foot. I really ought to be better about keeping them more on my side—he hates when I leave my clothes next to his bed.

 

I yank them on and glance at the clock. Lily'll be in the common room by now. She's an early riser, just like Pete, even if her sleep schedule is as much of a train wreck as Sirius's. "Meet you there!"

 

Sirius shouts something after me, but I don't catch what it is. Until I realize it's Saturday and I'm wearing the wrong robes. I trudge back upstairs and open the door. Sirius holds my broom in his hand, looking smug. I grumble at him and take it roughly.

 

Lily is looking out the window when I finally get downstairs. She has one arm tight against her chest, clutching onto the other. I approach her slowly. Merlin, I wish I could just go up behind her, wrap my arms around her, and kiss her cheek. Let her know how much she means to me without saying anything.

 

But I will never break my own rule, so instead I walk up next to her and put my hands behind my back, broom grasped between them. I gaze out the window, too, but keep sneaking side glances at her. She's smiling now but not looking directly at me either. Her grip on her arm loosens, but she doesn't remove her hand.

 

Suddenly, she kisses my cheek. I pretend to be affronted. "Miss Evans, you just ruined a perfectly good moment of staring at nothing!"

 

"Sorry, Mr. Potter. Thought you ought to get some breakfast before the big match."

 

"Aw, there you are, taking care of me," I tease and lift up an arm so she can squeeze in. "Hope you don't mind, there's a third with us this morning."

 

She looks over my shoulder to my broom. "Yeah, that's par for the course with you. Date you, get a whole Quidditch pitch as part of the package."

 

She takes my offered hand and we head through the portrait hole.

 

"Nervous for the match?" she asks, swinging our hands back and forth. Her hair sways in time with them, and I find myself a little mesmerized. "James?"

 

"Sorry, what? Right, yeah. No, not nervous. We flattened Slytherin last year, and we had worse Beaters then." Talking about Quidditch is something we only do after practice or before a match. I assume she only asks, and then listens, because she knows I love the game, not so much because she's interested.

 

"But they got a new Seeker, too," she reminds me, nudging me with her elbow. "Much better than ours, even."

 

"Well, well, look who's the teacher now," I say, impressed. "I hadn't mentioned that to you."

 

"I am capable of talking to others about the school sport, James," she teases, but she's also a little serious. "It's hard not to enjoy it, what with matches all the time and everyone always talking about it. You become a fan, even if on accident."

 

"Oh?"

 

Right away, she realizes she said something that I'm going to run with, and she laughs, trying to backtrack. "A fan of _Quidditch_ , for your _House_ , not of anything in particular!"

 

"Lily likes James, Lily likes James, Lily likes James," I sing-song, laughing. She elbows me again. "Oh, how you wound me! But alas, you can never bring me down again, for I now know that you are a _fan._ " I release her hand and climb up on a statue. "Lily Evans is my biggest fan!"

 

The three other students in the corridor don't even look up. Well. It's a good thing the only audience I need is looking right at me.

 

"Show off," she says, but she's laughing when she takes my hand again.

 

Her friends are already at Gryffindor table and we sit with them, waiting for a pause in their conversation to join in.

 

"Ready for the match, James?" Marlene asks, taking another bite.

 

"Oh, always," I smile back, but Lily and Dorcas exchange a look and laugh. "What? What did I do?"

 

"You might've gotten older, James, but you are still an arrogant toerag," Dorcas informs me, still laughing a little.

 

"I called him that one time!" Lily protests, and now I'm laughing.

 

"To your face," Marlene stage-whispers to me, leaning over her plate to send the words across the table. 

 

I glance at Lily, but she's laughing again now. Today will be a great day. 

 

Even if I didn't sleep much last night and will likely fall asleep while flying across the pitch.

 

Pete sits down on Lily's other side then, asking her how she slept. With the tiniest smile for me, she tells him, "Very well, thank you, Peter."

 

"I'll bet you did," Dorcas mutters, her eyes sparkling with teasing. "I heard him leaving, must have been after 1."

 

"Guilty," I admit, raising my hands. "I kept her up way too late sorting out the upcoming Prefect schedules."

 

"Is that all?" Pete teases.

 

"I think they're conspiring against us," Lily says, pretending to hide her words behind her hand as she faces me. She laughs again, and nothing could be better.

 

I think of her at the start of term, quiet, afraid, speaking but not talking, hardly laughing or smiling, and I see her here, now, happy, strong.

 

We stay long after we're finished, exchanging these three for Sirius and Remus, who bring the clothes I'll change into after the match and then offer much of the same jokes. Sirius, though, being Sirius, always has to push it a little too far.

 

"So, doe."

 

Lily looks at him and then the table, confused. "There isn't dough, Sirius. I think you're going mad."

 

"Oh, I'm already there, love," he says, winking. "But I'm talking about _the_ doe, the stag and the doe."

 

She shifts a little away from me. She knows, of course, that they know the story, having told much of it herself, but before this, I don't think she knew it was still a conversational topic among my friends.

 

"Oh, don't tell me it's still the hippogriff in the room!"

 

I expect her to shy away, or maybe to change the subject, like she does when we even edge around the word Patronus. But this Lily sitting at the table is even more direct than the one before Corvus.

 

"I don't think that's any of your business, Sirius." Remus snorts into his breakfast. "Or yours, Remus. Whether or not we've talked about a perfectly normal Patronus phenomenon shouldn't make one wit of difference to you."

 

"Perfectly normal?" Remus asks, surprised. I know he's been doing some reading, the nosy bugger, and I try to kick him under the table to get him to stop. I miss, and Sirius yelps instead, glancing at his leg.

 

"Yes, Remus," she says tersely. "It's not at all uncommon for two people to have similar Patronuses. Why, Marlene has a St. Bernard and Dorcas has a Corgi. They're both dog breeds, but no one is talking about how surprising that is, or about what hidden meaning it must have."

 

Holy fuck. This must be why we haven't talked about it. She's actually _upset_ about it.

 

"But Lily, surely you've read the Lomax text about how a Patronus is emotionally connected to you? It talks a lot about two people having not just similar Patronuses but _matching_ ones."

 

She shakes her head, like she's trying to rid her ears of his words. I take that as my cue to thoroughly examine my empty goblet, but I know Sirius is watching the conversation like it's the most interesting thing in the world. He'll never admit it, but he loves a good academic debate, almost as much as he loves unnecessarily awkward conversations.

 

"Theory, Remus, that's all his book was. He never was able to back it up, I followed up on it months ago."

 

Months? She's been thinking about it, too?

 

She turns to me, surprised. "Merlin, I said that bit out loud there, didn't I?" She nods.

 

Sirius and Remus exchange a look and then get the bloody hell out of there. I don't blame them. Hell, I wish I could follow them.

 

"Lily, why haven't you said any of this to me?" I ask quietly, trying not to be hurt.

 

"Well, I thought you didn't want to talk about it," she says, a little defensively. "You didn't bring it up after that night, even though I thought you would, and then you skirt around it whenever we talked about Patronus essays or something."

 

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it! You were so upset that night, and I thought bringing it up would only make you feel worse, like I tricked you or something."

 

"James, you could never trick me into getting a specific Patronus," she says quietly.

 

"I know, but it felt like I'd done something to influence it, and I thought you'd be angry." I shrug, sheepish now.

 

She isn't looking at me, though, instead gazing quite intently at her empty breakfast plate. "Lily?"

 

"Hm?"

 

She's trying to be casual. "What is it?" I ask cautiously. "What happened?"

 

"Well, I—" She takes a deep breath. "There's something I didn't tell you, about it."

 

"Oh?"

 

"Well, before I performed the spell, it was actually, it was what you said and how you were holding me. I felt, well, I felt safe, and that was the happiest moment I'd had in a year. That was, um, that was what actually fueled my Patronus."

 

I feel my jaw actually drop.

 

"That's not to say," she continues on quickly, "that the actual corporeal form of my Patronus would be different if I used a different memory. I just, well, you were my happy memory, and that's why I never said anything. I was embarrassed of that, of how they seemed so linked together."

 

I'm nodding, following. And Flitwick told us in class that your memory doesn't influence what your Patronus is, so I don't think she's just trying to gloss over anything. But there's something there, in her explanation, just beneath the surface. If I could just get ahold of it…

 

"You liked me."

 

"I—what?"

 

I laugh now. "You liked me already! That's why you were embarrassed! You would've had to admit that to me!"

 

"I—no," she starts, but then loses her words. She sighs. "Oh, all right. Yes, I did. I just thought—I thought we could never be anything, with what happened to me, because I couldn't bear what you would think of me if I told you. I thought you'd think what I think of me, that I was stupid and weak and worthless." She sighs. "I was wrong, obviously, but I was scared of telling you and then having you reject me over it."

 

Damn. Okay. This morning has taken the most unusual turn.

 

"Lily, Merlin, how could that make me think those things of you?" I pull her close, lacing my fingers with hers. "I look at you now, knowing everything, and I'm in awe of you. You're so much stronger than I had ever known, braver than I'd seen, endlessly kind and caring. You cared so much about us, all of us, that you kept it all bottled up inside, rather than hurt us."

 

Now she's shaking her head. "It was selfish, not talking. I just didn't want anyone to think badly of me."

 

We could go back and forth all day about this—we did once—but ultimately, I know there's more there than she wants to admit, more than her fear of our opinions. So I drop it, instead running the pad of my thumb back and forth across her hand.

 

We sit there, quietly, not speaking, until Keller walks up to us.

 

"James, time to head to the pitch," he says, nodding at Lily as he speaks. "Match is coming up fast."

 

"Right behind you," I assure him, and he nods again. He does a lot of that, our captain. "Well, time to go, love. Wish me luck?"

 

She pecks my cheek. "I'll be the one with the Gryffindor hair, not watching from the stands."

 

I laugh and give her one last kiss before finding my way to the locker room.

 

Keller and my teammates are already there, some of them still changing. I know how stupid I am about leaving Lily in time for anything, though, so now I always change before breakfast. Easier than trying to pull on my uniform while Keller is speaking.

 

After the usual pep talk and reminders of the strategies we'll use against the Slytherins, it's out onto the grass and up in the air for us.

 

For me, after my conversation with Lily this morning, the match goes by quickly, even though it's long, grueling, and filled with Bludgers flying everywhere. I stick to the plans outlined by Keller and stay low, hoping to only be noticed by my teammates when they need me, and not by any Slytherins.

 

Honestly, I used to show off a lot during a match, wanting to impress her, to get her to notice me. Now, yeah, I know I'm a good player, but I'm more concerned about not getting hurt. I can't end up in the hospital wing, or she'll have to fall asleep alone at night. And that would be much worse than losing a match.

 

We do win, though, although not by much. The Slytherin Seeker caught the Snitch, but just one goal too late. Any other game and I would've been wallowing in the glory accompanied by that goal, made by yours truly. But all I see is her face, waiting on the pitch.

 

How does she get there so fast?

 

She gives me a congratulatory kiss, but that's all we have time for before the team converges around us, shouting and jumping. Then my mates are here, promising a great party. I mean, we're the Marauders, we always throw great parties, but they're always better when we win.

 

After the noise and excitement moves away from us, she's still here, giving me the smile that lights my world.

 

"I've got to get changed," I say.

 

"I'll be here," she says.

 

She walks with me back to the locker room, hands clasped in front of her, and I think it'll be quiet, us just appreciating the silence, until she speaks.

 

"James?" she asks, looping her arm through mine.

 

"Yes, m'dear?"

 

"I just… I was thinking, after we talked about the, you know, the Patronus, about what you said. And what you've done since then, all the conversations we've had about what happened and what it means, you know, for me and what I'm okay with. You know what I'm comfortable with, and you're so good about always paying attention to that. But I don't know anything about what you want, what you're okay with."

 

If I didn't have my broom, I would place that hand on top of hers. Instead, I opt for squeezing her arm briefly with mine.

 

"Lily," I start quietly. "You're right, I know how you feel, and I never want you to feel like I'm pushing you, demanding more of you. But I don't—I don't know how _this_ will make you feel. That's why I've never said anything, never brought it up." I feel her look up at me, but I keep looking straight ahead, trying to find the words to get through this. "I want—what I mean is, well, I want—" I pause and let out a deep breath as I sort out my thoughts. "I don't have any boundaries you can't cross. Anything, everything you want, it's yours."

 

She quickly looks away. "Oh."

 

We walk in silence for a minute, and then she says, "Thank you. For telling me, I mean."

 

I nod. "You're welcome." We're at the entrance to the locker room now. "I'll meet you back out here in 10?" She nods, and I duck inside, stripping quickly and flinging myself into the shower. Last year, after matches, I'd stay and soak up the heat, letting it loosen the muscles in my arms that get used so much when we play, but sore arms is a small price to pay for spending extra time with Lily.

 

The match went straight through lunch, but I know Sirius and Remus have already arranged for food from the kitchens. Now that I'm looking around, I realize it must be late-afternoon. How long did we play for?

 

I ask Lily when I finally get back outside. She glances at her watch and says casually, "Oh, about 5 hours."

 

"FIVE?"

 

"Yes, five. Not quite as long as that horrible match last fall, between the Hufflepuffs and the Slytherins, but still an unusually long game."

 

"Sweet Merlin," I groan, "no wonder every part of me is sore."

 

She laughs and kisses my arm. "Don't worry, I'll help."

 

At first, I think she's offering a nice shoulder rub, but as we walk back to the castle, I wonder if there was more to that. I don't want to sound like I'm expecting more, though, so I don't say anything. Lily doesn't either, and we get back to Gryffindor Tower to see the party already in full swing.

 

"Prongs!"

 

"Hide, he's been drinking already," I whisper to Lily, and she laughs. "Pads, what've you got there?"

 

"Oh, just some good quality butterbeer," he says, cheeky.

 

"Mm, I think you ought to read the label again," Lily says, humoring him. "Someone must've tricked you."

 

He looks at the bottle and pretends to be scandalized. "Moony!" he calls. "Did you know, they switched the firewhiskey and the butterbeer on us!"

 

Remus just laughs, raising his own bottle in the air. None of us can drink like Sirius, but that doesn't mean we don't all enjoy a good time. With Lily, though, I don't drink much, if anything. I don't want to find enough of my inhibitions gone to accidentally push too hard.

 

She stays to talk to Sirius as I head over to the food, being waylaid by every Gryffindor at school, it seems, congratulating me on what became the winning goal, scored moments before that damned Slytherin caught the snitch. When I finally make it back to her, she's in a fit of giggles, Sirius telling an outrageous story about us and his flying motorcycle. I listen for a minute and realize it's one of the true ones, with the Muggle police, and I laugh awkwardly, too loudly, and hand over the plate to Lily.

 

"The nutter," I say, again a little too loud. "What kind of person would run away from Muggle police?"

 

"Apparently you," Lily says before taking a bite. I guffaw, pretending to be indignant, but she sees through that quickly enough, and I drop the pretense. "Besides, it's a great story. Just, you know, not the kind you want to tell to First Years. Might encourage bad behavior."

 

I nod, and then exchange a look with Sirius. That happens to be his favorite motorbike story, and I know that he's told it to most of the Gryffindors, First Year or otherwise. He'd only kept it from Lily because I'd begged, not wanting her to think badly of me.

 

As Gryffindors do, the party keeps going until it's well past dinner. Numbers in the room begin to dwindle, mostly because McGonagall doesn't let us celebrate all night, and it's easier to get to bed before the second wave starts. Because there's always a second wave.

 

I turn to Lily, silently asking if she wants to go up.

 

"Margaret and Cass, they asked us if they could hang out up there tonight," Lily says softly, leaning in close to my ear. "You know they don't like parties, and we usually take over the room, the three of us. So we thought it only seemed fair to let them have their fun without us."

 

"Oh," I say quietly. On game days, when Gryffindor wins and the second wave keeps Sixth and Seventh Years occupied for an unseemly length of time, we usually find a few quiet minutes to ourselves up there. Or, well, not so quiet, but definitely alone.

 

I'm going to leave it at that, settling for stealing a quick snog behind that tapestry she likes when it's our turn to patrol on Monday, but she looks at me with this look, like she's disappointed, expectant, and, what is that?, nervous?

 

"What about your room?"

 

I just stare at her, my mouth dropping open a little. We've never gone to my room. It was an unspoken rule, always keeping what we do in safe places for her. And I know, everything is a little different now: my space has become a safe space.

 

"I—yeah, we can go up to mine. You're sure?"

 

She nods, and then reaches out, hands on my sides. The look on her face, shyness mixed with desire, I swear, if there weren't other people here, I'd kiss her senseless. I'll have to wait for that, though. I press my hands against hers for just a moment, and then kiss her forehead. "Just a second, yeah? Head on up, it's on the same landing as yours."

 

When she nods, I step away and track down Sirius, massive flirt he is, telling Katie McKinnon, Marlene's younger sister, and her Fifth Year friends all about some prank we pulled a couple of years ago. Any other party and I'd tell him off for giving away Marauder secrets, or for getting those girls' hopes up—not like he ever wants more than a good flirt, some fun conversation at a party. Don't have time for that now, though.

 

"Oi, Prongsie, my mate! What can I do you for?"

 

Whatever expression I must have on my face, his sobers up quickly and he excuses himself from his conversation, coming within a few inches of me.

 

"What, mate?" He sounds a little scared. I must be pale, looking as shocked as I feel.

 

I clear my throat once, twice, and then decide against specifics. Eyes drilling into him, I just say, "If you come upstairs without sending an owl first, I will kill you. Brutally. Antlers in gut style."

 

He grins at me, but nods.

 

"Pass it on, yeah?"

 

"'Course mate." He's still grinning when I turn away, back to Lily. I see her glance over her shoulder. The only people watching us are my friends, which she doesn't seem to notice. I take long strides to the stairs and turn my head to my friends. They're all looking at me with something between awe, congratulations, and warning. Honestly, I'm feeling a bit of all that myself.

 

She's standing in the middle of the room when I get there, looking at the different beds, the clothes on the floor, books scattered around. I curse myself, wishing we ever bothered to clean up. But then, why would we? None of us ever bring anyone up here.

 

She seems to spot something, though, and moves toward my bed stand. She picks up the old snitch and turns back to me. "Yours, I expect?" 

 

Once, that gold ball was involved in the complete ruination of her opinion of me. Now, she looks at it almost fondly.

 

"Yeah." It's the only word I can manage. Just her being here is robbing me of coherent thought.

 

"So this is yours, too?" Using the snitch, she gestures to my bed. I nod.

 

She puts the snitch back down delicately, assuming it's sitting in that spot for a specific reason, and then hesitates. She looks more nervous than anything. Her eyes seek out mine, and I move to her, hugging her tight, her arms around my neck.

 

"We don't have to do anything," I remind her, the side of my mouth pressed into her hair, my brain miraculously working again. "This is enough." And I mean it, it is, even if I do want more. I'll find my way passed all the images of her in my bed and we can have a great conversation, tucked up against the pillows.

 

Keeping her arms wrapped around me, she pulls her head back. I expect her to nod, or thank me, or apologize even. Anything but what she does instead. She flicks her eyes to my lips, then back to my eyes. My blood stops. Using one of her hands, nails pricking the back of my neck, she pulls my head down to hers, her eyes searching mine until she closes them. Her kiss is soft, sweet, and I match it, closing my eyes to savor the feeling. I move my lips slowly against hers, letting her time every new kiss.

 

"James." Quiet, vulnerable.

 

"Yes, Lils?" Then I stop, watching her face. I try not to say it, I know how it brings up bad memories, but she doesn't look bothered.

 

"Kiss me harder." She's never said that before.

 

I don't need to be told twice. Bringing my hands up to her face, I put everything I've been feeling into this kiss, all my happiness and desire and hopes, pushing against her. She loses her balance a little, but I drop a hand to hold her steady. Slowly, one step at a time, I back up to my bed, feeling my legs touch the mattress. I'm trying to find a way to ask without words when she lightly kisses the corner of my mouth and whispers, "Yes."

 

I haul her down with me, collapsing into a pile, and she laughs, her face lighting up, illuminating the flush on her skin. I did that, I made her skin that beautiful color. She climbs off me and over to one side of the bed, lying down. I follow her, leaning on my elbow.

 

We're on our sides facing each other, a few inches apart, and I run two fingers from her shoulder down, across the curve of her breast, into the cove at the bottom of her ribs, up to her hip, and back up. She's watching my fingers trace out her silhouette. I watch her face the whole time.

 

Her breathing is getting heavier. I rest my hand on her waist, in the dip between breast and hip. Her eyes come back to mine and the fascination there, the yearning, I feel like I can't hold back any longer.

 

I lean my head down to hers, thinking she'll stop me, but instead she meets me, mouth desperate against mine.

 

It's never been like this before.

 

Even with the new intensity, I follow only laid out paths, kissing her hard but keeping my hands above her hips and over her shirt, concentrated on her back or stomach. I let one wander from her side to her back and then pull it gently back to her side, nails down. She gasps and drives her hips into me, almost involuntarily. I repeat the action, wanting her to make that sound again, and she does, digging harder into me. That catches my breath in the back of my throat, a low noise leaving me.

 

The force of her action knocks us to an angle; I'm now balancing on the edge of my side with her slightly up off the bed. I hold her there, tight against me, both arms wrapped around her, one hand resting on her side and the other between her shoulder blades.

 

I have never wanted anything more than I want her right now.

 

I lightly lick her lip, touching the edge of familiar territory. Her breath is hot on my face when I trace out her jaw with my mouth, tongue lightly touching her skin every few kisses. I didn't know she could get any closer, but I feel her breasts flatten against me, and I'm gone. I'd give everything in the whole world to be here and feel like this for the rest of my life.

 

She gasps, "Yes." I'm not sure what question I used my body to ask her, but I hope it asked the right one. She threads one of her legs between mine, and I have to remind myself where I am.

 

I trace out the bottom edges of her teeth with my tongue, press it into hers, and pull it back out, and repeat, again and again. She's breathless, almost panting. I feel like I'll never need to breathe again.

 

My hand runs down her back again, stopping just short of the unknown. I run my fingers back and forth above the top of her jeans, letting my lungs fill up with air again. "Is it…" I wheeze, eyes barely open but searching for hers, "is it okay?"

 

Through her gulps for air, she gazes at me so intently, I must be melting into a pool of desire right in front of her. I remove my hand, placing it once again in the square middle of her back. She needs to know she can say no, that I won't push it. But the look in her eyes, it makes me hopeful. Eventually, eyes darting from mine to my lips and then downward, she nods, her attention focused on my eyes again.

 

The green in them is brighter than ever, and I almost want to stop to stare at them. Almost.

 

The feeling is gone as soon as I taste her again, lips crashing into mine. I slowly slide my hand down again, enjoying the tantalizing feeling of my new freedom, and pause again at the top of the denim, inching my way down.

 

I'm driving myself crazy, but, more importantly, I'm driving her crazy, too. She has never kissed me like this, like all she wants to be doing is this, like there is nothing in the world but us.

 

Slipping my hand into her back pocket, I feel my blood race, heating every bit of me up. My heart is pounding its way out of my chest. I use the pocket as an anchor, shaping my hand to fit along the curve of her.

 

She bends her right arm, bringing it in closer to her body, but instead of using it as leverage to push herself up, she digs her fist into my chest, scooting her whole body farther up mine, with the other one clasping the edges of my hair, just behind my ear. I adjust my elbow, slightly moving the hand on her butt but then tucking it back into her pocket. My right hand crawls to the ends of her hair, which is resting along her shoulder blades, and I twirl it between my fingers. Lacing it between my fingers, I press my hand back against her.

 

Delicately, her fingers trace out the buttons of my shirt, slowly moving down. Her hand stops when it gets to the gap between between last button and hem, and then circles the button of my pants. She now knows every inch of me is hers to explore, and for the first time, she's pushing passed the walls she put up for herself.

 

My heart is pounding so hard, I cannot breathe, I feel like I must be dying. Dying of the best feeling I've ever had. She's never wanted me as much as I want her.

 

We have never been here before.

 

My fingers creep along the seams of her pockets and back to the top, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath mine. I want to feel more of it, but I wait, tracing my steps along her jeans and enjoying the sensation of her wrapping her fingers around a belt loop. Again, I touch the skin between shirt and jeans.

 

Every new inch along her skin is hers to give.

 

"Is this okay?" I whisper, eyes closed and lips brushing hers. I hold my fingers still, touching the barest sliver of skin below the hem, waiting for her. I'm praying to every god I've ever heard of.

 

"Yes."

 

That little word sends heat down my spine and I abandon the hem, hands around her face, in her hair, kissing her as hard as I can. A tiny noise, barely more than a breath, escapes her, and I pull her closer and shift onto my back, wrapping one arm tight around her waist.

 

She normally would've pulled back at this, but her mouth keeps pressing against mine, just as fervent, and then her hand is on the bottom of my shirt, finger moving along a strip of skin just below it. 

 

I move my hand down her back, just to the edge of the shirt, and lift it lightly along the hem with two fingers, trying hard not to do more than she gave me permission for. I almost forget what I'm doing when she nips my lip, just for a second, but then I find my hand touching her bare skin. Almost in reply, she shifts her weight, more on top of me than not now. I take a chance.

 

Like it has a mind of its own, my hand moves up, just a little at first, fingers tracing small circles along her spine. And then, suddenly, they touch her bra and I freeze. Everything in me wants to unclasp it and pull her shirt over her head. She hasn't pulled away, though, instead pushing more into me, squeezing every last bit of air out between us. I leave my hand where it is, part of it pressing down on the thin strip of fabric to stop myself.

 

Her mouth moves away and I'm trying to catch my breath and open my eyes when there's little kisses on my jaw, under my ear, down my neck and back up again. My breath hitches in my throat and I feel her smile against my neck. Her fingers pick at some of the buttons, slowly twisting them open.

 

She's never done this before.

 

She shifts her hand, pulling more of my shirt up, hand moving up along my stomach, tracing out the same line, back and forth. Her hair is on my face, against my neck, tickling me. I use my free hand to push it away, but keep my fingers wrapped up in it against the base of her neck.

 

Then, like an idiot, I move my fingers and start to feel along the clasp, pressing and pushing to find the release.

 

I know, right away, I've crossed a line and broken my own rule: never do anything without asking.

 

She jerks away from me. Her expression, it's like I slapped her. She scrambles off me, adjusting her clothes and yanking her hair into a ponytail, just like always. Expect it's not like usual, because she's not smiling, not laughing, not looking at me.

 

"Lil, wait, Lils, Lily, hold on." She looks at me like I've lost my mind. I'm wondering a bit about that, too.

 

I'm standing now but don't bother with my clothes. "Lily, I'm sorry—"

 

"I have to, I have to go," she says, stumbling over the words, hands shaking as she searches for the doorknob.

 

"Wait, Lily—" I reach out for her but drop my hand when I remember it's what got me into trouble in the first place.

 

"I have to go," she repeats, cutting me off, but, even though she's gotten the door open, she stops for a second, like she's about to cry and is trying to steady herself.

 

"Don't," I whisper.

 

"What?" she says, still facing the door.

 

"Don't go."

 

She doesn't say anything back, but she doesn't leave either.

 

I sit back down on the edge of my bed, some of the buttons on my shirt still undone. Propping my elbows on my knees, I drop my head into my hands. She's still standing by the door.

 

"I knew," I whisper. "I knew what you were okay with, what you weren't, what lines I had to be told I could cross. But you climbed into my bed, and it's like it all went out the window. I thought one line was the same as the others. But they're not. Not to you."

 

"James—"

 

"So why would I do that?"

 

She doesn't have an answer for me. Worse, I don't have one either.

 

"Lily." Her name, the best word in the world. I say it just to say it, but then I see her eyes, shining bright, so green, and her face, Merlin, it's so beautiful. I've always thought so, but that's not what I like best about her. She's a fighter, endlessly fighting, and she's clever, so clever. Getting to know her these last few months—all of it, the good and the ugly—she's more than I ever thought. She's all I ever wanted. 

 

I love her.

 

Merlin, Sirius was right. Worse, he was right about the past. He's never going to let me live this down.

 

I've loved her for a long time.

 

"I'm so sorry, Lily." It's all I can say. She deserves more than excuses or empty promises. She just has to know how much I mean it.

 

Her eyes look passed me. She does this when she feels like what she has to say is too horrible to hear. Her expression is apologetic then and I want to cry. I'm afraid of what she'll say next.

 

"James," she starts. She finally looks at my face and seems to lose her words. She says my name again with feeling, and I feel faint. 

 

I thought blokes weren't supposed to go weak in the knees.

 

I can't bear what she might say. I take advantage of her quiet. "Lily, I never, I never meant to upset you, to hurt you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I keep my hands at my sides, even though I want to hug her tight and never let go.

 

"James, I'm sorry," she finally says. "I didn't—I got, I got scared and felt trapped, like it was happening all over again. I just—It's obvious I made you feel horrible. I'm sorry."

 

I wish I was inside her head, so I could understand how she thinks she owes me an apology.

 

"It's not your fault, Lily," I tell her. "He got inside your head, right? He's made everything you do, everything you even want to do feel wrong. But you keep going, further onward every day. You are so strong, so courageous. You're better than I am. Oh yes, don't shake your head, you are. I don't know how you do it, I really don't."

 

Like a fool, I take another chance. I step toward her, hands in front of me, arms open. "Lils." She doesn't step back. I grab her hands and bring her close to me. "Lily, you're everything."

 

"No, I'm not," she insists, shaking her head again. "James, I can't be. I'm broken, I'll always be broken. He broke me. I was—I am _damaged_."

 

"No, you're not. Not to me, never to me."

 

She looks like she has a thousand more things to say to me, but I don't want to hear any of them. There's only one thing I can say, to make her understand.

 

"I love you, Lily."

 

And, Merlin, how she looks at me.

 

"I love you, too, James."

**Author's Note:**

> Edited 18 March 2018


End file.
